Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Wait—Kiss? Never Mind Then
by Boudicca1
Summary: Bond is captured, again. The villain is a beautiful woman, again. He tries to seduce her, again. She shoots him, agai—wait, what?


James was running. There's nothing particularly unusual about this; his occupation calls for lots of running. And fighting. And jumping, particularly off of buildings or helicopters. But for now, he was running. Specifically, he was running away from the guards that had somehow noticed his stealthy approach.

Okay, maybe he wasn't being that stealthy, but it's not like he thought this mission was going to be difficult. He'd been investigating rumors of a new crime lord who'd popped up after the members of the mob that had previously controlled the area all mysteriously had "accidents." Well, one of them had won an all-expenses paid vacation to Costa Rica, but they were pretty sure that that one was actually unrelated.

The point is, this was supposed to be an easy assignment. All he'd been ordered to do was sneak in, figure out what was going on, and report back. He wasn't supposed to be getting chased, and he definitely wasn't supposed to get chased by at least six henchpeople who were all carrying assault rifles.

He was close to some pillars; if he could get behind them, he could shake off his tails long enough to start running in a different direction. He made a slight change in direction and tore off towards said pillars. He turned the corner and, by the time that the people chasing him followed suit, he'd mysteriously vanished. (Okay so he was crouching on the ground, hoping that between the pillars and the bush he was covered enough that they wouldn't find him. Hey, sue him; he's had a rough day.)

He heard the group go rushing past and he waited with bated breath for them to disappear. Finally, the sounds of their chase stopped. He held himself completely still for another minute, making sure that no one had doubled back. When there was no sign of anyone, he silently stood up, thankful that his plan had worked.

He scanned the area, just so he could be positive that there was nobody there, before creeping back the way he'd came. All he had to do now was find another entrance. Or, he pondered, he could go back and sneak in the way he'd originally tried before the guards had noticed him.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a sharp blow to the head, which made him stumble and start falling. As he did so, he heard snatches of conversation above him.

"See, Josie? I told you he was gonna come back this way!"

"All right, Sam, you don't need to be so fucking smug about it,"

His last thought before the blackness took him was that he was never, ever going to accept an "easy" mission from M again.

.-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-

The first realization that James had while awakening was that he couldn't move his limbs. His second observation was that it was because he was tied to a chair. His third thought was that he really, really hated M.

"Oh look, he's awake," a voice called.

He blinked hazily, trying to make out what the moving shapes in front of him were. As his vision cleared, he realized that there were two people, one in a uniform similar to that of the guards, pointing a gun at his head, and one seemingly bored woman staring at a computer.

"Thanks Amara, I see that," replied the woman.

The one in the uniform—Amara, he guessed—shrugged and absconded to the doorway of the room.

This, he realized, must be the person in charge of the criminal operation. To be honest, he hadn't expected it to be a woman, but on the bright side, his chance of survival had jumped up to near certainty. Women were more reluctant to shed blood than men, hesitant to harm their opponents.

Women's delicate sensibilities, of course, were not the only reason James preferred female villains over their male counterparts. Inwardly smiling, he turned all of his attention on the woman in front of him, ready to begin his favoured method of... subduing his female enemies.

"Pleasure to meet you," he drawled, making sure to put emphasis on the first word. "I'm Bond. James Bond. But then," he smirked, "you probably already knew that."

"Actually I didn't, but thanks for thinking that I'm incompetent enough to fall for a fake name," replied the woman in front of him, taking her eyes off of the computer in front of her for a moment.

Bond tried to restrain the expression of surprise that doubtless spread across his face, but, judging by the criminal's reaction, he was not fully successful.

"What?" she asks. "You can't seriously expect me to believe that some secret agent would decide that the first thing they should do when captured by a hostile element is to tell them their actual full name."

Bond pondered that thought. It would, he reasoned, be stupid for any random agent to reveal their identity to an enemy, but he was not just any random agent; he was Bond. James Bond.

"Oh, I don't plan on you being able to try to track me down when I'm done," he smirked.

Her eyebrows raised in confusion. "Done with what? What could you possibly do while tied to a chair with a gun pointed at you?"

Not for the first time that day, James was confused. "But I don't have a gun pointed at me," he pointed out.

"Dammit," she cursed, "I knew I forgot something." She rummaged in a drawer for a moment before triumphantly pulling out a gun, which she immediately pointed at Bond.

James realized that he should probably change tactics.

"What do you want? I can help you get it," he purred, making sure that his voice was as alluring as possible.

"Well, what I really want is to be a billionaire, have two cats, one of whom I'll name Tybalt, and one of whom I'll name Lord Fuzzy Wuzzikins, a statue of me in the middle of the UN headquarters that costs more than the entire GDP of Estonia, and a lifetime supply of Plastic-Man comics, but for now, I'll settle for killing you," replied the villain in front of him.

Bond wasn't nervous. He was 007, a deadly agent with a license to kill, and—more importantly at the moment—devastatingly handsome features. He held the record for the most seductions of female contacts/targets/villains, and he knew that this time would be no different.

He eyed this gorgeous criminal in front of him, appreciating her buxom chest and her legs that went on for miles.

"Oh, I doubt that," he interjected, "you could make better use of me alive." He gave his best smoulder.

The woman looked confused before her expression stretched into one of incredulity.

"Wait a minute are you—are you seriously hitting on me right now?" she questioned, disbelief mixing with horror.

James frowned. That wasn't the usual reaction to his advances. Maybe she was just shocked that such a handsome agent was flirting with her.

"What the actual fuck?"

Okay, maybe she wasn't awestruck at his flirtations.

"No, seriously, why the hell would you think that I'd—what were you even trying to do? Distract me and somehow escape while I was swooning?" she incredulously asked. "Wait no—I've got it! You thought I would be so grateful that a handsome man thought I was attractive that I'd let you go!

"Or," she reasoned, trying to come up with more explanations for why this person in front of her legitimately thought that she'd succumb to his wiles, "you... you... yeah, I got nothing; I give up."

"That's not what I was trying to do," Bond protests, "I was trying to—"

"You know what?" she replied, "I really don't care. Fuck this."

She shot him in the head.

His body slumped forward in the chair to which he was tied, blood staining the wood and ropes.

"Should've just shot him from the start," she grumbled to herself, shaking her head. "Why didn't I? No, seriously, why didn't I shoot him sooner? How did somebody else not shoot him already? This must have been his first mission." That was, after all, the only plausible explanation for why nobody had killed "Bond, James Bond" before.

"Fuck this, I'm gonna go rob a bank."

And then she did and there was much rejoicing.

The end.


End file.
